The Settlers of the New Age
by Agent-007.1
Summary: Twelve years before Ruby Rose got admitted into Beacon Academy, the NCS 'Winter Nights' of the Frontier Militia crash lands on Remnant.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**

 **so, like, this is my first story. I'm not necessarily new to the site, but I've still never uploaded a story. So if this pans out horribly then... well then there you go.**

 **Also, to clarify from the summary, I'll explain everything eventually.**

* * *

There's something to be said about the tranquility of a frosted forest.

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

It's also worth noting how easily the sound of distant gunfire disturbs that tranquility.

* * *

"Not one step closer!" Came a voice. It's exact origin was unknown, but it clearly came from a male human, or faunus, in the wreckage.

Oizpin's response was to obey this voice and put his hands up in a non hostile gesture. Avoiding conflict with a mysterious and, evidently, fierce entity seemed like a good idea.

"We are not here to pick a fight. We only wish to speak with you." He responded, having to raise his voice more than he was used to do to the distance between him and the wreck.

"Then talk." The voice replied back without hesitation.

Ozpin lowered his hands and was about to continue walking towards the wreckage when the voice called out again.

"Stop! Do not come any closer!"

Oizpin's hand quickly returned to their previous positions and froze in place. "You said we could talk."

"We all hear each other clearly. No need to get any closer than this."

It was at this point that Glynda decided to add her own voice to the conversation. "That may be true, but I personally find yelling to be quite tiresome."

"Likewise, Miss." Came the quick response.

"As do I." Ozpin added. "So why don't you let us come closer and we can have this civilized discussion face-to-face."

"Negative, Mister."

Glynda watched as Ozpin's attitude visibly dropped before he replied. "And why not? We all came to the same conclusion."

There was a slight pause from the voice, almost as if he too was getting frustrated. But from what, she couldn't say.

"Because I don't trust you." Was the rather blunt response.

Glynda and Ozpin exchanged glances for a moment, as if they were communicating telepathically. Ozpin then turned his attention back to the wreck. "Perhaps introductions are in order." He said, lowering his arms again. "I'm Professor Ozpin, and this Professor Goodwitch."

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance Sir; Ma'am."

The two professors took quick notice of the word change. Mister and miss became sir and ma'am. _Rather peculiar_. Thought Ozpin. _I wonder if it has to do with our titles_. They both also noticed he didn't respond to them lowering their hands.

A few seconds past without any more comments between the two groups. After a few more, Glynda's patience started to wear thin. A few seconds more, and she crossed her arms and released her frustration in a carful vent. "What's your name? Or do you not have one, and you're just unintentionally being rude."

"Classified."

"Classified?" She snapped back. "By whom?"

"Classified."

Glynda huffed in frustration. This conversation was dying fast, and was quickly retuning the situation to square one. "Well we have to call you something."

There was a short period of silence while the man probably contemplated this remark before responding. "Well, okay umm... Mr. Smith- wait! No, no, uh, John, John Doe. Call me John Doe."

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Doe." Said Ozpin. "If you don't mind me asking, why can't you tell us your real name?"

"Standard procedure in case of non hostile contact with enemy forces. Minimize information that could potentially be used against the Frontier Militia."

The way he said it, along with what he said, reviled something significant about the man. _Addressing his military standing can happen at a later time_. Thought Ozpin. _For now, let's defuse this 'enemy forces' remark_.

"Ah, yes. The General informed us of the unfortunate circumstances leading up to our arrival."

"Then you should be aware that as of six hours ago, we are now in a state of hostilities."

"And that is precisely why we came here."

Another silence fell over the area. Glynda's hand tightened around her riding crop as she anticipated John's response. Even if John was incredibly stubborn, and didn't always seem to make sense (what is the Frontier and why does it need a Militia?), he clearly had displayed considerable intelligence. He seemed to analyze every exchange while also considering his own rules of conduct. Also, on a personal note, Glynda was just as curious as Ozpin to understand what was actually going on.

"So are you..." John finally responded after several minutes. "Are you proposing a... ceasefire?"

Ozpin smiled. A glimmer of hope and resolution to this misunderstanding. "More than that, Mr. Doe. I am offering a truce."

"Whoa, whoa, wait!" Came the disappointing response. "What do you want?"

Now they were both confused. Hadn't they just asked for a truce? Hadn't they made it clear what they wanted?

"We want a truce." Glynda repeated for Ozpin.

"Yes. You said that. What else? You want our technology or information or something?"

"That was never part of the discussion." Ozpin said after a quick glance at Glynda.

"It never is until it is."

"What makes you think we want your technology anyway?" Challenged Glynda.

"You have explosive propelled ballistic weapons and sophisticated aerial transportation. You could have bombed me out, but you haven't. Which means you need all this intact."

Ozpin flinched in surprise. _I can't believe he let that slip. He said 'me' as opposed to 'us'_. "We can discuss the finer points of the negotiations after we bring a cease to hostilities."

Whoever this man was, he certainly put a lot of thought into his responses. Another long moment of silence filled the area.

"Alright, agreed." John finally responded. "Both of you take 50 paces forward and hold position until I arrive."

Ozpin gave a quick glance to Glynda, who in turn, gave a look of major confusion, with a hint of frustration. The duo began slowly walking towards the wreck, counting their steps as they went. As he continued counting his steps (seventeen, eighteen, nineteen), he began contemplating the events that led up to this moment.

* * *

 **A/N**

 **Well, there you go. Small chapter, I know, but I'll wait until I have a few reasons (reviews, favorites, or follows) until I post a second chapter.**

 **Catch ya'll on the flip side.**

 **END TRANSMISSION**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N**

 **Okay, so I had a brief realization that this takes place about ten years before the White Fang began to go violent, so I've decided to use another group. This group is mainly a bunch Faunus that are still trying to 'win' Faunus Revolution.**

* * *

Supāku Pine was walking home from the town of Ipponsa. Her grandfather had sent her on her first solo journey into town to buy a new pair of wire cutters. She had some urgency to get home. Being only fifteen, she was officially the one of her friends who had ever left the village, much less journey wasn't a particularly dangerous one. It would only take a few hours, and there was rarely Grimm in the cold, mountainous north of Anima. She could barely see the coastline in the distance, which wasn't much of a feat considering her position atop ahill. But she didn't pay much attention to that. She was too busy trying to get home quickly and gloat to all her fellow classmates and friends.

She was definitely not hurrying because she was terrified of the dark, and the sun was just starting to sink behind the mountains. Definitely not that.

Although she did have a 'lack of fondness' for the dark, she would be lying if she said she didn't absolutely love stars. She had memorized multiple constellations, spent countless hours star gazing, and had been saving up for a telescope for years now.

So, here Supāku was, walking down the road, between sparse patches of trees and snow covered fields, starting up at the sky. That was how she noticed the oddity that was currently passing along the shaft of the Strela constellation, which currently resided in the far south of the horizon. It was a pulsating red/orange light; a meteor just bouncing along the edge of the atmosphere.

At least, that's what she thought it was, until it did something that meteors don't normally do. It began course corrections. As it came closer, the light strangely dimmed and changed into a shadow against the stars, like a candle winking out. All that remained of the light was a speck of blue.

It wasn't long before she heard it. It started as a low rumble, but as the object came closer, it grew into a thunder. Soon she could could see that the object was some type of wingless airship, as it roared overhead. The ship, now directly above her, slowly banked towards the west, slipping into a small valley. The ground shook as a low rumble like a gargantuan monster awakening from the depths below.

This quiet valley was about to become very busy.

* * *

"What's the name of the village again?" General Ironwood asked.

"Suītopī, Sir." replied the pilot.

Ironwood was currently inbound to a town in north western Anima, and he was exuberant. A little over a week ago, members of a Faunus extremist group had stolen an Combat Airship. The theft occurred north of Vytal, and was last seen headed due east, towards Anima. Now, late last night, a report from a small fishing town by the name of Suītopī claimed that a "large airship had crashed" nearby.

 _Two plus two is four._ Deduced Ironwood. As if to add more fuel to the fire, the town was inhabited predominantly by Faunus, and was known to house sympathizers to the organization. Ironwood wasn't racist.

So now, here he was circling down towards a clearing in the forest to meet up with a Huntress from Mystral City and a group of four locals who were to act as guides. With the two Atlesian Dropships carrying five infantry, fifteen AK-130s, and two Atlas Specialists, they made for a formidable reconnaissance force.

The Dropships came in, creating a massive updraft of snow flurries which made for a rather fantastic site in the early dawn sunlight. As the human and mechanical soldiers began establishing a perimeter, Ironwood walked up to his guests. As the Huntress walked up to him, se spoke with a friendly smirk.

"General Ironwood, I presume."

"You presume correctly, Ms...?" Ironwood answered while extending his hand.

"Oh yeah, name's Cielo Arancione." she said while returning the friendly gesture. She then proceded to tilt her head back and spoke up. "Well ladies and gentlemen," she to the rest of the group, "it would seem this little entourage is all here right on time."

"It seems so, yes." Ironwood agreed with a hint of enthusiasm in his voice. "I propose we get moving. I'm rather eager to reclaim some lost property."

"Agreed." Said one of the locals, a dark skinned woman wearing a white leather fur-lined jacket that looked hand made (which it probably was), a pair of dark grey and green camouflage cargo pants, an a pair of mismatched shoes. Most notable about her, was she, lie all the other locals, was a Faunus. Her pointed deer ears sticking out of her wool knit skull cap made that evidently clear. The woman, clearly the leader of the group, stepped up to Ironwood. She looked closely at him with an authoritative glare, as if daring him to step back. He did.

"I'm Shika Pine. My daughter found your ship." She stated flatly. "She can show you where it is."

"And where is she?" Ironwood asked.

"At my village. We were headed there now." she gestured to the large, faded pale green cargo truck behind her. "You will you be talking your ships, I assume?"

"Correct. We'll follow you from the air." He replied while walking back to his dropship, with the pair of Specialists. The infantry parameter folded, filed out, and loaded up. They were gone just as fast as they arrived.

Just as the General's dropship was spooling up, he called out to Cielo. "You with me or them!?"

Cielo paused for a moment, as if to consider the question. Who was she with? Or did he mean riding with? Either way...

"I came here with them!" She finally replied. "Sticking with 'em!"

Now it was Ironwoods turn to figure out which question she had answered.

* * *

A short three minute and they were had arrived at Suītopī. After an indirect meeting between Ironwood and Supāku, mediated by her mother and grandfather, Ironwood decided to finish the expedition on ground with his Specialists, while his troops would quickly deploy once they reached their destination.

Normally, a crash site of this size wouldn't be all that hard find, with large drag marks and fire or smoke rising into the sky. However, there had been an intense snowfall the past few days, which had made high altitude observation insufficient, therefore requiring... a twelve year old guide. Nevertheless, they seemed to make great progress, as half an hour later, they had a good vantage point of a large metal hulk at the bottom of a tall hill. the Dropships, which had acquired visual conformation a few moments prior, had ben authorized to go ahead and secure a perimeter. They troops were not, however, authorized to enter the vessel until the General's arrival.

With Ironwood now on site, they could proceed with the investigation. His first deduction; this wasn't the stolen Combat Airship. As a matter of fact, this wasn't any type of airship that he was familiar with, and since the General was up tp date on all combat vehicles of this size in service, this was greatly concerning.

* * *

 **A/N**

 **Okay, chapter two. A bit longer, however I think I probably over did it in the beginning there, but whatever. sorry if this was a little uneventful, but, well... there you go.** **Hopefully I'll have the next chapter up... soon... ish. No promises.**

 **Questions, comments, suggestions (maybe), leave a review and I'll probably get back to you. No promises.**

 **END TRANSMITION**


	3. Chapter 3

After a perimeter had been secured at about 100 meters away from the crash site, Ironwood and Cielo simply looked at the wreckage and quickly deduced that it was not made by Atlas.

Instead of the standard dark grey/light grey color scheme, this was dull white over the majority, with any bulge or interruption in the blocky streamlining was either olive green or black. It was also severely damaged, with the last quarter of the ship completely detached from the rest, and the front section seemed to be crushed back. It was also definitely much larger than a Combat Airship. The rear of the ship, which seemed to be the main system of propulsion with three clusters of engines two each, seemed to be about 150 meters. The rest of the ship was about 450 meters, with a 20 meter gap between the two.

"Alright, how do we do this?" Cielo asked.

Ironwood seriously contemplated the question, before gesturing behind him to a group of AK-130s.

"Command: scout out, report back."

"Command acknowledged." came the mechanical response before the four walked towards the ship and whatever it held inside.

* * *

 **N** **CS** ** _Virgil_ -Class Light Freighter _Winter Nights_**

 **Storage Bay C-11**

"Common you lousy piece of..."

The room was suddenly filled with a whirling sound as the Reaper began to power up.

"Yes!" the Pilot threw his hands up at the first good fortune in a while.

The whirling sputtered and died.

"Oh come on! You stupid piece of-"

The man was interrupted by a V-47 Flatline equipped Spectre. "100 meter perimeter breached. Permission to engage."

"Uugh... Chingow!" he shouted in frustration before releasing an exhausted sigh. "Negative. Hold fire until someone shoots first."

As the Spectre was walking away, the Pilot let out another long sigh. _I've never been in more dire a need of a nap than today, and then this happens._ He then stood up, grabbed his X-55 with WD-4x Threat Scope, and, after giving a light kick to the uncooperative Reaper, followed the Spectre out to its observation post. "Alright Gus," he said to himself, "let's see what we're dealing with."

His footsteps echoed along the empty corridors, eternally reminding him he was alone. Occasionally his foot would swipe aside a few empty casings, and they would jingle down the floor. His eyes would become drawn to a bullet hole or scorch marks, evidence of the firefight that had plagued his star side home in its final moments. The blood stains where still visible, even with the dying red emergency lights. Empty rooms once filled with fellow Militia fighters, now empty. Farmers, welders, miners, bank accountants, normal people thrown into a war- "Nope. no, no, no..." Gus said to himself. _I've been over this. They did their job, now they're gone. Nothing I can do now._

After passing a few more rooms and walking down a flight of stairs, he came up behind the Spectre. Its observation point was a small alcove of a breach in the hull. A decent spot, it provided good flank cover, concealment, and an excellent view of the starboard side of the ship, which was now permanently facing a large hill. What he saw didn't really surprise him. There was dense woods to the bow, and a mountain range to the port side, so if there was anyone who had seen his rather conspicuous entry into this world, they would most likely come from what he had determined as 'south-west'.

What he did see was about two dozen infantry, mostly drones, in a lose perimeter around from the north, semicircle around to the south end. He also noticed what looked like some kind of dropship out in the distance landed, and another holding back at about 200 meters out. Even with his triple magnification, the best he could make out was a dozen or so figures around the landed vessel. What he very clearly made out was the four drones well within his security zone. _Smart._ He thought. _S_ _end in the scouts first._

He had also figured that since he hadn't been completely bombed out yet, that they weren't IMC.

Regardless, he still had a breach in his defenses. Even if he was alone, this was still a Militia ship, he was still acting commander, and he still had a responsibility. He was Lieutenant Colonel Augustus Viridis of the 726th Pioneers, Nomad Corps, acting Commander of the NCS _Winter Nights,_ and he was going to defend his ship at all costs.

* * *

"Halt!"

Ironwood currently had his Scroll linked to one of the drones, providing him with live audio/visual feedback. So when a male voice came from some place in the wreckage, he listened. Admittedly, it was more out of supprise than response to the voice.

"Please retreat 50 paces!"

Instead of complying with the voice this time, Ironwood had the drones maintain their positions and glanced to his companion. "Well, I say we get to the bottom of this, don't you?"

Cielo gave him a thoughtful expression. "Absolutely."

the two began walking toward the wreck. Cielo, not one for silence, decided to make this already overwhelming situation even more interesting. "So... any theories?"

Ironwood almost stopped at the odd question. "Huh?"

"Oh come on!" She look at him inquisitively. "You honestly don't have any guess as to what's going on?"

A confused look was all she got in response.

"A crashed ship that is completely unfamiliar occupied by a territorial guy." She elaborated. "Why'd it crash? Who's is it? Is it the guy inside? Who is he?"

Ironwood simply shook his head and looked forward.

"I think he's homeless." She shot out.

"He isn't." He replied back without missing a beat.

"And how would you know?" She asked with a challenging tone.

"The ship is clearly his home. It's why he's so defensive."

She looked at him for a moment before walking ahead of him and proceeding backwards facing him with a grin on her face. "You have been thinking about it."

It wasn't a question as much as a statement of fact. One Ironwood wholeheartedly confirmed. "Of course I have. This is a serious discovery, and possibly a major threat."

"It's one guy, alone, with one crashed ship. Doesn't seem like much of a threat."

As she returned to her place beside him, Ironwood glanced suspiciously at the young Huntress. "When did you graduate?"

"last year from Haven Academy."

"Because you seem to have missed the fact that this we've only heard one voice, and seen no one, so there is now way to be sure he's alone. Secondly, We have no knowledge of their capabilities or allegiance."

She seemed to ponder these word for quite some time. They had almost reached the scout team before she responded. "Alright, agreed. We do need to take this as a potential threat."

"Exactl-"

"However!" She interrupted. "If it's potentially hostile, why haven't you called in a fleet of Airships to bomb it?"

"Because, the ship is still crashed, which means that whatever their intentions, their current situation was not their intended one. They may _not_ be hostile, and I would prefer them to stay that way."

 _I would also like to see if I can recover some of their technology._ He add as a thought to himself.

* * *

 _I take it back,_ Augustus thought. _This guy is an idiot._

Not only had the four drones failed to retreat, as he had asked, they had been joined by a man and a woman. the man was tall, white, and had dark hair. What he wore set off a series of alarms in Augustus' head. The white uniform was very well kept and trimmed, and, with all his time in the Militia, simply screamed 'I am an important officer! Please shoot me!' Augustus had quickly pinned him as the on in charge of the drones.

The woman, on the other hand, was much harder to figure out. She was maybe a hair or two shorter than the man, and had short, brown hair pulled back in a lose braid. She had a well put together wardrobe of reds, oranges and purples, almost like a fantastic sunset.

Whatever his opinions on the two were, they were still not pulling back.

"Step back! You have entered a restricted area!"

"Hello!" Said the man. "My name is General Ironwood of the Atlas Military. With whom am I speaking?"

 _Ah shit. He is an officer._ Augustus sighed. _This just got a lot worse._

"Please vacate the premises."

"I don't know if you're aware of this, but you are currently in a kingdom you do not have permission to be in."

"Are you in charge?"

Ironwood paused for a moment, as if to consider the ramifications of an answer. "Not technically speaking."

"Are you an emissary?"

"Of sorts."

 _Damn, this guy is political._ Augustus sighed. ' _Yes' or 'no' would be nice._

"Do you have any standing authority in this region?"

"Not over it's citizens."

 _Oh damn. That was not what I wanted to hear._ Augustus paused for a moment, to think his situation over. "What exactly does that mean?"

"The Mistral Council has authorized me to neutralize any threat to their security."

It was at this point that the woman decided to chime in on the conversation. "Under my supervision."

 _Okay, that clarifies her position._ Augustus determined. _Liaison officer._ "And who are who?"

"Cielo Arancione."

"Rank?"

The two seemed to talk amongst themselves for a moment.

"I'm a Huntress."

 _Huntress. Sounds like some kind of special forces. Odd, since she doesn't she doesn't seem to grasp the concept of camouflage. Anyway..._

"Regardless of your authorization, this vessel is not your property, nor under the control of your authority granters. So please... Step. Back. Now."

Ironwood didn't seemed very pleased with this answer. "And how do I know you aren't a threat?"

Normally, Augustus was a calm man, admittedly, with a short temper. However, over the past week, he had failed to intercept three IMC cargo ships, botched the assassination of a Rear Admiral, had four of his fellow Pioneer Squadrons transferred to the Marauder Corps, had his ship boarded for the first time, crash, and lose his commanding officer, along with his five other pilots, over 700 infantry and crew.

Simply put, he was a complete lose cannon that had just met his limit. Which is why the rest of his conversation with Ironwood was less than civil.

"Fuck off hierarch! I'm only a threat if you want me to be!"

Ironwood seemed to flinch at the out lash before composing himself. "I cannot trust you if I don't know who you are or what your intensions are."

Augustus was about to reply before being interrupted by one of the Spectres.

"Hostiles on board."

Immediately, he turned off his external speaker, screamed a sting of profanities, and began to take charge of the situation.

"Repel all intruders and reestablish 100 meter security! Now!"

After firing six or seven blind shots at the General, Augustus sprinted to the nearest Spectre bay. When he ship had been boarded by the IMC, it became Augustus' job to purge all systems on the ship from the central mainframe. This deactivated all non-essential systems (life support, airlocks, and the hospital bay). So now, he had to use his data knife to reactivate all 126 surviving Specters individually. Currently he had twelve, but he was about to change that.

* * *

"Why are they shooting at us!?" Cielo screamed as she and Ironwood fell back to the Dropship.

"They're responding to the team I sent in around to the other flank."

Cielo slowed to a stop. When Ironwood looked back to ask what she stopped for, he was meet with a look of shock mixed with anger. "You went behind their back!"

"You heard him, he was becoming irrational."

"They weren't hurting anyone!"

"They still pose a potential threat. Look!" he gestured behind her. When she looked back, she noticed that the number of drones had quickly ben reduced. They probably had a third of their strength reduced in a matter of seconds. "See! They are a threat."

She shot a killing glare back at him before storming passed him. "They were provoked! By you! You are a threat to them!"

They soon reached the Dropship, and proceeded inside.

"All units, pull back and regroup at my position."

A chorus of Yes, Sir' filled the comms. When he turned to his companion, she was holding her Scroll attempting to contact someone.

"Who are you calling?"

Her immediate response was another death threat via eye contact, before answering him. "A friend who can hopefully defuse this situation that you created you brutish imbecile!"

* * *

 **Beacon Academy**

 **Vale, Kingdom of vale**

Glynda's Scroll buzzed on the green desk. She picked it up, glanced at it, hung up and put it back down to continue her work. She and Ozpin were currently examining candidates for next years class. Her Scroll buzzed again.

"Maybe you should take that?" Ozpin spoke with a smirk. "They seem persistent."

"It's Peter's niece from Haven."

"Oh, and what does she want?"

"I guess I'll find out." She said as she held up her Scroll. "Yes?"

"Professor, I need your help now! I can send you my coordinates, but you need to get here before we accidently start another war!"

"Wait, Cielo, calm down-"

"Oh, bring Ozpin if you can! He's pretty good at negotiations too!" The line went dead. A few seconds later, her Scroll beeped with a message.

Ozpin sighed. "I'll get a ship."

* * *

 **A/N**

 **Okay, so a little more content, and now we're pretty much caught up to the events of the first chapter.**

 **Also, guys, seriously. I'm not asking for reviews as much as I'm asking for feed back.** **I've gotten two, and I am thankful, but I would greatly appreciate more feedback guys. Even if you didn't like it, tell me why.**

 **END TRANSMITION**


	4. Chapter 4

Here Ozpin was, waiting to have a conversation with a man he knew nothing about except what he assumed from earlier, and what Ironwood had told him. It didn't add up. _Ironwood had said he saw multiple sources of gunfire, yet Mr. Doe seems to refer to himself as alone._ When he voiced these thoughts to Glynda while walking the rest of their fifty paces (forty-four... forty-five...) she responded.

"Maybe they're both right."

Ozpin thought for a moment. "I guess we'll just have to ask him ourselves."

"That does seem to be the best option."

They reached their fifty paces, and waited. Not long after, they noticed a figure emerge from the wreck. The figure, whom they presumed to be John Doe, fell from the small tear in the hull a few feet from the ground, and started walking towards them. As he got closer, they got their first look at him.

First and foremost, was the weapon on a sling at his left side. A compact weapon with a tall barrel shroud of large vent holes on the top. His entire body was covered in a olive drab suit with dark orange highlights. Over the suit was a collection of brown, black, or olive drab pouches of various sizes. his shoulders had metal plates, with his right being bigger than the left. Topping the outfit off was a thin, flat helmet with slight curves between the front, top, and sides. The helmet had four red lights that almost mad an 'X' on the front, and a olive coloring with orange stripe from bottom right to top left. On the right side, was the picture of what looked like a tiny, white flower with long petals.

Before he knew it, John Doe was standing a meter away. He stuck out his hand. When Ozpin went to shake it, he pulled back suddenly.

"Oh, geeze." John said, reaching up to his helmet. "Sorry. Almost forgot."

He reached behind his helmet and pulled some type of lock, turned and the helmet came off with a soft click. behind the helmet, was a dark skinned face, brown crop cut hair, and green/blue eyes. A slight scar went from the back of his right jaw, traveled along and stopped just below his chin. There also was small piece of gauze tapped to his forehead above his left eyebrow.

After his helmet was removed and secured to his right hip b a small clip, he pulled a out a hat from a pocket on his leg. A grey patrol cap with an orange stripe around the front and sides, and the same small flower emblem on the front.

"Greetings," he said holding out his hand again, "I am Lieutenant Colonel Augustus Viridis of the 726th Pioneer Squadron, Nomad Corps of the Frontier Militia. Who are you?"

Ozpin was taken aback, even if he didn't show it. The man spoke with a pure professional tone. He was also completely confused by everything the man just said, with the exception of his name. _I knew it was fake._

"Well, Mr.-"

"Colonel." Augustus interrupted with a slight glare. "I think I've earned it."

Glynda, not having contributed to the conversation yet, decided to join. "I thought it was Lieutenant Colonel?"

Turning to face her he replied. "In conversation, it's usually just Colonel. Otherwise it's a mouthful. Wouldn't you agree?"

"I would."

"Great." he finished with a slight smile, even if it looked a little sarcastic. "Now, you are?"

Ozpin closed his eyes for a moment, grateful that hostilities had not yet arisen.

"I am Professor Glynda Goodwhich. This is Headmaster Ozpin."

"No last name?"

Ozpin starred at him for a second. It was undeniable now. The man was smiling at the two of them.

"Never mind, don't answer that." He waved the question away. "And yes, I remember. You're both school teachers, or are those call signs for some secret underground organization?"

Ozpin and, to a lesser extent Glynda, were both smiling now. Ozpin responded to the question honestly. "Well she's a teacher. I'm her boss."

With a slight chuckle from the Colonel, and a huff from Glynda, Ozpin knew that a connection had finally been made. It may not be strong, or very developed, but they were talking. It was a start.

* * *

 _He's got a sense of humor._ Augustus thought. _Maybe we might not have to have a shoot out._

"I take it it's safe to assume the IMC doesn't have influence on here?" he said with a grin.

"Yes." Ozpin replied. "They have no presence here."

"You have no idea who they are?"

"Correct."

Augustus sighed and nodded. "Well..." he rubbed his chin. He needed a shave. "I can't tell if that makes things easier or harder."

"Is there anyway we can help?" Ozpin offered.

"No offence, but I highly doubt it."

"Well, maybe your government can help you?" Glynda suggested. "Who do you work for?"

 _Oh geeze. Like it would be that easy._ "I don't think I can contact them that easily."

A sudden idea flashed into Glynda's head. "Do you work for Menageri?"

 _Alright, moment of decision._ _Do I lie, and try to fake my way into this, or go with the truth?_ "Alright, being one hundred percent honest," he replied after a moment of thought, "no, I don't."

Before they could ask him another inquisition about his origins, he preemptively interrupted, "I don't work for anyone on this planet."

* * *

 _That was unexpected._ Ozpin was silently stunned. _Someone who doesn't work for anyone on this **planet**. _

"So does this mean..." he inquired.

"That I'm not from this planet?" he asked for Ozpin. "Correct."

Glynda, coming out of her hidden shock, questioned, "That means that you're..."

"An alien?" he was smirking now. "Technically speaking, yes." He was quiet for a moment, letting this information sink in before adding, "But in this context, I think 'extraterrestrial' would be more appropriate."

 _Either he's crazy, or he's being honest._ Ozpin decided to question him further. "What planet are you from?"

"Would the name of some rock an octillion kilometers from here really mean anything to you?"

Glynda, getting the same idea as Ozpin, responded, "No harm in knowing, is there?"

Augustus shrugged, "Eh, guess not. I'm personally from Senolca IV. In the Veserious System." He looked at them for a response or next question.

"What is the Frontier, and why does it need a Militia?"

"The Frontier is a large collection of planets, moons, asteroids, space stations, and the like. It's pretty far out from the Core Systems, so we used to have a good deal of autonomy, bordering on sovereignty. The Militia showed up when this sovereignty came under threat."

"From whom?"

"The IMC."

A questioning looked shared by the two asked the next question for them.

"The Interstellar Manufacturing Corporation is a massive mega industrial conglomerate that established colonies in the Frontier. They were the first ones to settle it."

A confused look came across Glynda's face. "So doesn't that mean this IMC has rights to the Frontier? Isn't the Militia a terrorist group?"

A pained look came over the Colonel. _I have a feeling it's more complicated than that._ Ozpin thought when he saw it.

"Legally speaking, yes to the first question. Somewhat to the second."

 _That does sound complicated._ "What is difficult about the second?"

"Well, the IMC has done some morally and legally questionable things to reestablish their authority. The Militia was created as a way to fight back."

Before anyone could speak next, the Colonel looked past the two professors. When they turned around, they saw Ironwood and Cielo could be seen walking up to the trio.

"Can I kill him?" Augustus asked in all seriousness.

"No, but I do think you should be ready to respond."

"Always."


	5. Chapter 5

The Colonel, the General, the Huntress, the Professor, and the Headmaster were now all in the same spot at the same time. No one said a word, out of fear or curiosity. Until Cielo decided to break the silence with a similar line of questioning that had just preceded her arrival. Ironwood soon had his own questions.

"Why are you here?"

The Colonel now had his full attention directed in a non friendly look to the General. "I crashed."

"Why did you crash?"

The Colonel huffed in frustration before give the most sarcastic gin ever seen. "Your planet got in the way of me falling."

Ironwood was not amused, and furred his brows in annoyance. Ozpin couldn't help but smile in amusement. Although he hadn't known Ironwood for more than a few years, he was aware of the General's reputation as a fellow headmaster; strict, authoritarian, indoctrinating. A hardline professional military officer of the highest caliber. Augustus was a 'Lieutenant Colonel' of a Militia force from another planet. Not only were the two soldiers of different worldly cultures, they didn't even share the same type of military practice. Which would explain why Ironwood seem to almost growl with his eyes at the inferior officer before asking for a more elaborate answer.

"Do you want to know of the events leading up to this moment, or would you prefer the abridged version?"

It was here that Ozpin decided that if a discussion was to continue, it would be better suited in a new venue. "Perhaps we could take this conversation to place with less snow and more heat?"

As the group looked amongst the other faces, Cielo decided to put out the first suggestion. "We could head to Mistral City? I need to check in with Lionheart anyway, so I can get two birds with one stone."

Ironwood came with a counterproposal. "We should go to Atlas. There's more security."

"I believe I asked for less snow." Ozpin countered with a sarcastic smirk. Ironwood shot him a look, before giving a politician's smile.

"I suppose you want to return to Vale, then?"

"Actually, I was thinking we let our guest decide."

Augustus, who perked at that comment, chimed in. "I would love to be the decider, but I know nothing about this place, incase you forgot. My only conditions are the ship stays here, and I'm not going to Atlas."

With the exception of the scowling Ironwood, the group shared a smile.

"Well," Glynda spoke, "I think Vale is our main option. Unless you have objections?"

Cielo shook her head in a negative. "No, I think you can head out. As long as I can use you to back up my report."

"I'll send over a signed report once we get back to Beacon."

Augustus, who had been silently watching the debate over his immediate future, decided he had a few questions. "A few questions, actually. One, how are you getting my equipment to Beacon?"

The indigenous persons all shared a look at the resident military commander. "Excuse me? You want me to use my ships to transport his stuff to another kingdom?"

"The war is over, James." Ozpin replied in a stern tone. "I think if there was ever a time to work together, it would be in the assistance of an..." _What was it he called himself?_ "...Extraterrestrial."

"It's not happening Ozpin. Even if I wanted to, I don't have the authority."

"I think I might be able to do something about that..."

* * *

An Airship had arrived on scene a few hours after Ozpin made a call to 'a few friends', and Augustus set to work on collecting as much equipment as he thought he would need. Cielo took the opportunity to take her leave on a small transport with Glynda, who was presumably going to help the young Huntress with some political red tape that was sure to be a small nightmare. Ironwood was buisy trying to explain the situation to the crew of the Airship in a way that would cover any suspicions.

"Do you mind if I come aboard your vessel?" Ozpin asked.

Augustus thought for a moment. _He has proven to be much nicer than the other guy. And as far as I can tell, he doesn't seem to work for the government._

"Don't take any pictures. No videos, no touching, no going anywhere I say you can't. Got it?"

Ozpin smiled and nodded. "Lead the way Colonel Viridis."

The pair walked up to a low opening and Augustus used his jump kit to hop up. He turned around to a wide eyed grinning Ozpin. He knelt down and help out his left had to the Headmaster. With some effort, he help the curious man into the confines of his celestial home-away-from-home.

The light was still a dim red. The main generator was offline and would likely remain that way indefinitely. This area wasn't as heavily effected by the boarding that had doomed the ship. Minimal score markings and a lack of blood stains.

"So where are we now?" Ozpin asked looking around.

"On our way to Armory B-3."

"What are looking for?"

"My weapons."

"How many do you have?"

"Well, I have my Volt on me. A few frags, my RE .45, and my Mk.6." He replied without stopping his search. "What I'm missing is my X-55 and my R-6P."

"That's quite a lot of weapons for one man."

"Normally I would agree with you. But considering I'm in this fight by myself, I find it prudent to be prepared for as many contingencies as I can."

Ozpin fixed him with a sad glance. "You know we mean you no harm?"

"For now. It wouldn't be the first time someone stabbed me in the back, and I have no intention of making that mistake again."

They continued their walk down the hallway in silence. Ozpins gaze was drawn to an ever growing amount of battle damage. Eventually, his eyes fell upon a patch of dried blood. He really wanted to know this mans story. "How long have you served in the Militia?"

 _How long has it been?_ Augustus thought. _This is my fifth tour out into the Far Regions, so probably..._ "Six years, I think. give or take a few months. Which reminds me, how does you time system work here?"

"Sixty second minute, sixty minute hour, twenty-four hour day, twenty-eight day month, thirteen month year."

"No extra days on a certain year?"

"Yes, every eight years, we have an extra day added to a month. What do you use."

"Same system, except we use alternating thirty, thirty-one day months, with an extra day every four years."

"Well that's intriguing."

"Agreed."

They soon came across what they were looking for. "Armory B-3. Alright, let me grab my gear, and then we'll head over to comms."

"What's there?"

Augustus was now trying to pry open the door, which seemed to be sealed shut very solidly. "Most of the ships essential communications equipment. With any luck, I can reestablish LOCNET and I can keep in contact with the ship from anywhere on the planet."

"Could you contact your superiors?"

He didn't respond immediately, until the door suddenly clicked and screeched open. "Gaah! Wah, they must've warped from the blast..." he said under his breath.

Ozpin looked inside, and was meet with a massive collection of weapons. Large, small, some looked like launch type weapons with a cylinder of tubes behind the barrel. Another group looked like some type of massive long rifle with a large magazine on the side. He also notice the lack of weapons, as many of the lockers and shelves seemed to be empty. Various types of munitions were littered all over the floor.

Augustus was in the process of doing a quick lookover on his weapons and putting them in a duffle bag he found in the corner, when he heard Ozpin resume his questioning. "How old are you?"

A curious glance towards the Headmaster was his immediate response. "Little personal?"

"No offence meant, I assure you."

He shrugged. "Humph. None taken. I'm thirty-one."

"What did you do before the Militia?"

He turned back to his bag, and was silent for a moment when he put it over his shoulder. "Private security. Before that, I was a teenager doing normal teenage jobs."

"So you've spent a long time fighting?"

 _I don't like where this conversation is gong._ "Yep." he replied in a finalizing tone. "Now come on. We've got to head to the drop bay."

"I thought we were going to your communications?"

 _Good, conversation averted._ "We are, after I drop my gear off with my Titan."

* * *

 _They have a lot of advanced weapons for a Militia._

"Like 'em?" the Colonel said. "Mines the big light grey one with orange stripes."

The two were currently in some type of hangar with large hatches in the floor. There must have been several layers, since the room seemed to be relatively undamaged. It contents consisted of six massive robots surrounded by gantries and walkways. Each of the robots had a distinct look to it, while also seeming to keep to three basic design shapes. three were large broad type, another two was a slightly maneuverable looking one that maintained an armored persona, while the last seemed to be a nimble stripped down version. While each one was painted in a distinct fashion, they all seemed to have orange or red incorporated into the color palate. This included the one the Colonel had claimed as his.

It was one of the middle types, but seemed bulkier than the other one, and had the letters 'CAJUN' written in black on the left side. "What are these?"

"Titans."

"Titans?"

"Titans." he repeated with a nod. "Large mech-style robots, designed for civilian and military applications as highly mobile heavy lifting vehicles."

"And how did you acquire this technology?"

Augustus looked at him with a confused expression. "We developed it."

"On your own?"

"I guess I don't know what you're asking. Yes, humans designed these, and now we use them in combat. Confused?"

"And you fight other humans? With these?"

"Mostly yeah. Sometimes we fight other Titans. The IMC has more than we do actually."

"How many humans are there?"

Augustus' faced slowly turned into one of shock. "Seriously? Wow, you are, okay. Ummm... give me a minute."

He climbed up a ladder towards his Titan, and walked up to a small consul next to the top of the machine. "Alright big guy, let's get this show on the road."

He stuck a strange looking knife into the terminal, and a small hologram appeared out of the handle. A few seconds latter, a loud humming noise filled the room. A deep mechanical voice seemed to emanate off the walls. "TITAN DEPLOYMENT SECTION ONE PRIMARY SYSTEMS OFFLINE. REROUTING POWER... UNSUCSES-"

"That's enough out of you." Augustus grumbled, cutting off the PA system. "I already know everything's busted."

He seemed to be messing with a cable attached to his giant robot, trying to release it's immobilizing hold on his Titan. He was grumbling again. "Come on... son of a... maybe I need some D batteries..."

Suddenly, a blue light flickered into existence once the tether detached.

"Hey Cajun. Glad you're awake."

"Analyzing." came a voice from the machine. "Pilot, it is good to see you did not die in the crash. No other Militia bio-signatures detected. Where is the rest of the crew."

"Deceased. The _Winter Nights_ is now marked as a ghost ship."

Ozpin realized something. "Pilot?"

"Yeah, I control Titans. Those kind of people are called Pilots, and this one is mine." He turned back to the Titan, "CJN-4118, this is Headmaster Ozpin, a significant member of the indigenous population." He turned to face Ozpin again, "Ozpin, this is Cajun."

"Salutations Headmaster Ozpin."

"Greetings, and Ozpin will do just fine."

"Noted."

"Yeah," said Augustus, "he's got one of those new Militia AIs they've been issuing to some Titan units. Apparently some guy in the Marauder Corps did pretty good with one a year back. Can't remember the guys name... But anyway, he's an Atlas chassis, but I've added a few extra plates of two centimeter D-38. Splitter Rifle, VD-27 Plasma Pulse Cannon, AT-63 MTMS, and

"Pilot Viridis, what is the level of IMC presence in this area?"

"None. However, a new faction referred to as Atlas is now on potential threat priority."

"Noted."

"Alright Cajun, grab your stuff, I'll grab some more ammo, set up the LOCNET, and we'll be Oscar Mike."

"What about me?" Ozpin asked.

Augustus turned back to Cajun. "He's our ride, he'll tell you where to put everything."

Ozpin grinned. "These next few days should be very interesting."

 _I wonder how Qrow is going to react._

* * *

 **A/N**

 **Alright guys, the Titans have arrived. I also now have five spare Titans lying around, so they might come into play later.**

 **Also, Since I couldn't find anything definitive about the calendar system of Remnant, I decided t give them the International Fixed Calendar, which no one on Earth really uses.**

 **Thirdly, I write all this by myself, edit it, and have very few things connecting my current plans to... an end game I'm still trying to decide on. So my updates are probably going to start getting longer and farther apart. Also, if any of you have a well established head cannon about Menagerie and Blake and her family, I could really use some input.**

 **Any criticism or comments are welcome.**

 **END TRANSMITION**


	6. Chapter 6

_Alright, Gus, total inventory..._

X-55... Volt SMG... Mk.6 Smart Pistol... R-6P... AT-ARL... RE .45... eight electric smoke grenades... fifteen fragmentation grenades... a dozen 14-grade CDC, commonly referred to as satchel charges... survival kit... Med kit... an unholy amount of ammunition. A small squad of Spectres, the Reaper he'd been working on for three weeks on, his data knife, his combat rig with jump kit, a collecting of various types of communication equipment, a few MREs, and Cajun. It was a wonder it all fit in cargo hold of the Atlesian 'Combat Airship'.

 _These things are a lot bigger on the inside._

Ozpin was currently standing behind him gazing over the small mountain of equipment. "You have a lot of equipment."

"I don't have luxury of resupply anymore." he replied somewhat ominously. "Luckily, I do have an almost fully stocked ship to come back to in an emergency."

Cajun was frozen in the far back corner of the equipment stockpile, powered down. Even if the Titans twin Dionysys Hydrogen Fusion Power Cells that theoretically could last for 44 years, he still only had one replacement, and that didn't account for battlefield strain, or the fact that Cajun was already fifteen years old.

"So we're heading to your school, correct?"

"Yes, although I still need to find a place for you."

"You mean my giant robot?"

Ozpin gave him an amused look. "That does seem the overbearing problem. Although it shouldn't be to hard."

"Sounds big. What kind of school is this it?"

Ozpin thought for a moment on how to describe a Huntsmen Academy to someone with no concept of Grimm. "Beacon Academy is, in terms you would probably find familiar, a military academy of sorts."

 _Oh boy. 'Of sorts' is one of those passive non-specific phrases people like to hid behind._ Still, as long as it didn't effect him, it was not his concern.

"How long will it take to get there?"

"A little less than ten hours."

 _Perfect time to get some shut eye finally._

"Not to sound ungrateful, but can you get out of my storage room?"

Ozpin gave him a startled look. "Excuse me?"

"I haven't slept in almost three days. I'm tired, I want to go to sleep, and I want to do it with no one around, if you don't mind."

Ozpin gave a look of sympathy. "Alright. If you wake up before we get there, I would suggest you join me and Glynda before we arrive. A few things I feel you should be informed on."

A nod was the response he got. But when he was walking towards the door, the Colonel remembered a question that had been nagging at his neck.

"Hey Headmaster," he called out to the headmaster, who turned at his name.

With a mischievous smirk and a curious glint in his eye, he asked, "You and Glynda a thing?"

* * *

Several hours later, Ozpin was drinking a cup of coffee. Again.

It was very early in the morning. So early, the sun still had yet to do more than give the night sky a slight blue tint to the far east. He was sitting in a small conference room of some kind. It was almost all white, with trimmings of blue, black and grey. A small grey table sat in the middle of the room, with a dozen chairs around it, and one wall was entirely transparent, facing out to the east, across the continent of Sanus. A view he recognized as being a few kilometers north of Vale City.

"Humph." he huffed with a smile. _Me and Glynda in a relationship._

"Something funny?" the lady of the hour inquired.

"Just some comments from our new friend."

Glynda seemed concerned by this comment. "A bit presumptuous to call him a friend, don't you think? We know nothing about him."

"He's from another planet and completely ignorant of our worlds politics and troubles. He's a soldier, a Militiaman at that, and provided that the term carries the same meaning with him as it does us, he's a civilian soldier. In regards to human- or faunus- life, he's alone. He's disciplined, intelligent, experienced, paranoid, and has a sense of humor."

"But he has no allegiance."

"He supports his Frontier Militia."

Glynda gave him a frustrated glare. "Ozpin, the man is a wild card."

"All the more important he be on **our** side..." he shot back with a hint his own frustration. "Glynda."

A sigh escaped her. She closed her eyes, and held up a hand to her forehead. "Have you told Qrow?"

"Just sent him the data packet I had written up."

"And what about the other Headmasters and the Councils?"

"Ironwood will most definitely inform the Atlas Council, and I'm sure Lionheart has been informed by now, which just leaves Skiáchtro from Shade, and the Vale Council. Ironwood is my main concern though."

A voice suddenly came from behind the pair. "Yeah, that pendejo is seriously annoying."

The duo turned to see the Colonel standing in the doorway, eating something out of a yellow bag with steam emanating from it. He also seemed to be out of his gear, only wearing a jacket with a pattern of dark grey and white rectangular shapes scattered all over it. He was also still wearing his 'orange-and-grey' cap, as he called it, with the flower crest on the front.

"You seem well rested." Glynda commented, while wondering about the man's bizarre word choice.

"And you seem to have found something to eat." Ozpin added, trying to steer the conversation away from politics.

The man was looking down into the steamy bag while digging around with a fork. "I'd offer you some, but I don't know how you feel about-"

"I already ate, thank you."

He merely hummed and nodded in response while forking out another mouthful of the bags contents, and began walking forward. "So," he said while he was chewing, but paused. "So what do we do now? Get introduced to the hierarchs I assume?"

"Perhaps it would be wise to inform you of the situation."

"Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. I've got quite a few questions."

"I suspected you might."

He walked into the room, and pointed at the seat opposite Ozpin, as if to ask for permeation to sit, and received a nod in response.

"So, what's your population?"

Glynda took that question. "A few hundred thousand. Just short of a million, if I remember correctly."

"What about the planet? Assuming you were referring to your... Kingdom you call it?"

Ozpin nodded. "Yes, the Kingdom of Vale."

"And the population of Remnant-"

The Colonel held up his fork. "That's the name of the planet?"

Glynda nodded. "Yes. It's population is just over two billion."

"Politics?"

"In Vale," Glynda took this question as well. "We elect three Heads of Council. Defense and Foreign Relations, Commerce, and Justice."

"Democracy a popular opinion in the world?"

The two teachers looked at each other for a moment, before Ozpin answered. "For the most part."

The Colonel gave no expression to this answer before responding. "Opposition coming from...?"

"It's more like..." Ozpin started. "some people have certain restrictions in some places."

"A _specific category_ of people I assume." the Colonel replied with emphasis.

Glynda sighed. "Yes."

"And this category is...?"

"The Faunus."

Augustus froze, and looked up from his food packet. "You mean like... animals?"

Two pairs of eyes suddenly went wide. "Uhmm..." Glynda started. "No. Not at all."

"That's actually very offensive."

The Colonel gave a raised eyebrow and a nod. "Okay... care to explain?"

The next few minutes was filled with a lengthy explanation of the history of the Faunus. A basic description of their genetics, political position in history, their involvement in the Great War, an their continued situation in the Kingdoms. The Colonel seemed to be quite casual about most of it, expressing that similar events were not unique to Remnant. Ozpin wasn't to sure how to take that. Nevertheless, the Colonel seemed to want details on every aspect, and was infatuated with knowing as much as possible. Eventually, the conversation came to Menagerie.

"Wait," the Colonel interrupted. "You just put most of the resented population on an island that is only about half inhabitable?"

"The decision was made before either of us-" Glynda tried to defend.

"That doesn't matter." he interrupted calmly. "You can do something now."

Ozpin suddenly leaned forward. "You wouldn't happen to have any suggestions would you?"

The Colonel looked at him. His meal packet had stopped steaming, and he hadn't taken a bite in several minutes and was probably empty. That didn't stop him from poking into it, as if literally digging for an answer. He didn't seem to find one. "Not yet, no."

"Well, if you ever have a solution I'd love to hear it."

"You'll be the first." A beeping noise filled the room, and Ozpin looked at his Scroll.

 ** _*ETA?_**

 _Qrow. What incredible timing you have_. "I think I should take this. A friend of mine has a few questions that need answering before we arrive."

"That dust bird is to inquisitive for his own good." Glynda shot.

"Yes, well he is rather adapt at getting information, and I think it would be beneficial to tell him of our imminent arrival."

"Wait, hold up." the Colonel said waving his free hand. "Who's this guy?"

* * *

Qrow looked at the man that was a new guest to the former duo. "So who is this guy?"

"Lieutenant Colonel Augustus Viridis, 726th Pioneers, Nomad Corps, Veserious Brigade. I presume you're Huntsmen Qrow Branwen?" he finished with a point in the Huntsman's direction.

"Well, I guess that answers that."

"Fantastic. Is this the Acadamy? It's pretty big. Plenty of space for my stuff. How many students go here? Didn't you something like 400 or so? I probably shouldn't of had that third cup of coffee..." the strange man rambled on as he continued walking up to the campus grounds attached to the landing pads.

"So..." Qrow said slowly. "Who is he?"

* * *

 **A/N**

 **Alright, sorry. This chapter was mostly just to establish the Lt. Colonel and my headcanon of the government. Also, a few questions that have been asked by a few reviewers (Christopherprime22, ) "is STRQ around" and "will I get to Vol. 1".**

 **No. Sorry, STRQ has been defunct for about a few years now. Summer Rose died maybe a year and a few months prior to this.**

 **Yes! Of course this will get to Volume One! I mean come on. What kina' question is 'at?**

 **END TRANSMITION**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N**

 **Made some practically unnoticeable changes to the previous chapter. Just a few continuity changes and some other stuff.**

* * *

"Alright," Ozpin said as he sat down behind his desk. "Lets hear this story of yours."

Augustus had just been through a bit of a culture shock haze. He'd never seen a building like this. He'd seen buildings much larger than this. The TRAXUS Plutonium refinery comes to mind. He'd seen castles, or at least recreations of them on a few worlds. But he'd never seen a castle of this scale and shear... awe. Massive hallways, skyscraping towers, the magnitude of this place was just unparalleled. And it was empty.

 _Probably out for the season._

"Colonel." Glynda said, drawing the man out of his thoughts.

"Oh, yeah. Perdón, just thinking for a minute." He said returning to the world "Where do you want me to start?"

Ozpin and Glynda shared a look for a moment.

 _Damn, they do that a_ lot. He though. _How much communication can you have with just a look? There's no way they're not married._

"Well," Ozpin started, "the beginning would probably be a good start."

 _Alright this whole thing of being all vague and shit is pissing me off._ He flashed a small grin. "Well, I was born on May 9, 2367, on the planet Senolca IV. It's a mining planet..."

Augustus' sarcastic tone faded. _Wait, they actually want me to tell my **whole**_ _story? Seriously?_ "Wait, do you actually want me to tell you my life story?"

"If you fell inclined. I'm not going to be particular on the information you're will to give us."

"Oh, okay. Well, in that case, I'll explain the conflict and how it got me here. De acuerdo?"

They stared at him for a moment. _Shit. I'm speaking broken English again, aren't I_? He asked himself rhetorically. "Sorry. Agreed?"

Glynda responded with a conformation while Ozpin simply nodded.

"Well, it started about one-hundred fifty years ago. In 2215... about, the Core Systems were expanding and the Five Systems Defense Pact was creating problems for the Coalition. With major political turmoil erupting in the against the IMC, so they have to put a hold on the development of some two hundred odd planets, moons, other things. All those colonies spent the next hundred plus years to develop however they wanted. Things in the Core calmed down, the IMC didn't come back, and the Frontier continued to do whatever it wanted. Well, recently, things in the Core are heating up again. They want more weapons, more ships, more guns and bombs and bullets.

"So, with a massive new demand in material, they remembered all those rich planets that they colonized so long ago. Well, when they came back, they found us."

Ozpin nodded. "You resisted."

"No." Augustus replied. "No, they resisted. I joined the IMC."

That shocked the two of them. He just sat there, nodding. "I joined them."

"I was young, I needed money, and I wanted revenge. When a Militia Force attacked my home planet that had an IMC uranium mine. They destroyed the mine, leveled the town, and the IMC rebuilt everything. To a eight year old, that made them seem like the good guys. So, when I turned eighteen, I signed up for the IMC Marines. I was an Anti-Titan specialist, Senior Petty Officer. Then, I killed a Militia Pilot, and I ended up becoming an IMC one myself. Few years latter, I provided back up for an hit on a suspected Militia armory, and the pendejos incinerated the daylights out of it."

He stopped. Ozpin noticed this. In fact, he'd noticed that Augustus had remained mostly neutral throughout the ordeal. As if his story didn't faze him. _He's not ashamed of his past. He doesn't hide from it._ "I take it you changed sides because of this?"

"Almost." He pointed. "I changed sides when, after it was discovered the armory didn't exist, and no repercussions were levied against the perpetrators. That's the difference between the Militia and the IMC."

Ozpin finished for him. "You take responsibility for your actions."

"Exactly."

"So, after that adventure, I decided to join up with the Militia."

"And they just let you in?" Glynda asked.

"They're desperate. All I had to do was show up. They didn't trust me for a while, but it worked out in the end."

 _Except for the part where you crashed here._ Ozpin thought.

"Except for my last mission, of course."

"Yes, perhaps you could explain how you crashed."

"I didn't." the Colonel replied with a grin. "Your planet got my ships way, remember."

* * *

 **Marmaglas XIII**

 **IMC Naval Refitting Station _Mazu_**

"Captain Itō, would you _please_ get your ASS to the Bridge, ASAP!" blared the speaker.

A Yamato woman, just under a meter tall, came sprinting down the hallway of the _Virgil_ -Class Light Freighter _NCS Winter Nights_. No less than three minutes ago, she had been enjoying the longest continuous sleep in the past two weeks when an alert came over her PERCOM, informing her of a situation that needed her immediate attention.

The 726th Pioneer Squadron had been in the Far Regions for about six months now, and had made significant progress in sabotaging the IMC 5th Fleet's attempts to refit its self. The 726th was one small part of the Militia 12th Fleet's plan to cause as much damage as possible to the IMC's 5th Fleet by attacking as many critical locations at the same time as possible. Currently, it was the 726th's objective to disrupt the IMC's infrastructure by attacking one of their largest Naval Docks in the Far Regions. It was currently in he process of repairing six _Malta-_ Class Battle Cruisers, and two dozen _Messina_ _-_ Class Corvettes. But there was one ship in particular that had been the pinnacle of exuberance was a single ship. The _Vienna_ -Class Destroyer _IMS Hastings._

"Are you sure?!" CPT Itō demanded as she burst through the doors to the bridge.

One of the Fire Control officers replied, "Yes, ma'am. It was confirmed by October Team when they intercepted IMC comms."

The _Winter_ was currently waiting just outside the range of IMC scanners after deploying a thirty man team to the planet ten hours ago with the objective of advanced reconnaissance. She was expecting them to report back in a few more hours with information on a plan to steal a large missile payload and detonate it on the station's magazine. What she was not expecting was to hear that the _Winter's_ archrival of the past _three years_ was situated at the docks.

"Ma'am, Lieutenant Brown wants to know if we should prioritize the _Hastings_ as a primary target."

This was where Captain Itō's job became difficult. On one hand, she should continue with the plan, and go after the station. It would delay the repair of vessels there, which was a lot of firepower being removed from the equation. However, the _Hastings_ was a solid fighting force in it's own right, and it was fully functioning as far as she was aware. But, it still wouldn't be here if it didn't need to be. It could be restocking supplies, probably to continue it's chase of the _Winter Nights._ Such a resupplying would be delayed if the station was destroyed.

"Tell Brown to proceed with the operation. The station is priority."

"Yes ma'am."

A grin came across the Captain's face. "And tell that redneck son of a bitch that if he deviates from the mission I'll get his mother to scold him in front of the crew again."

"No repeats of the Bandria mission, Captain?" A new voice entered the bridge.

Itō tuned to see a tall, thirty year old Latino man wearing an OD green-orange shirt, IMC digital cargo pants, and a Pioneer Orange-and-Gray.

"Ah, Viridis." Itō said. "Finally managed to join the living, have we?"

"Last I heard, it was your name being shouted over the intercom." the Colonel retorted. "Getting a little senial, señora?"

A few snickers bounced around the bridge, before the Captain felt the need to correct the Lieutenant Colonel. "Last I checked, you're ten years my senior, old man."

"Bahh..."

The bridge was now sharing a good laugh, before getting back to the task at hand. It wouldn't be long before 1LT Brown's team would need recovery, and the rest of the crew would need to be on the ball if they were going to pull this off. After a few minutes of prep, it became a waiting game. Holding out for the call for EVAC, the anticipation on the bridge was building like the wind of a tropical storm cascading into a hurricane.

"Alright... Captain! We got the call! October Team is requesting recovery."

"Commence Jump. All hands; battle stations." Her favorite thing she got to say being in charge of her own ship.

The space in front of the ship seemed to distort into an expanding pale blue light, warping the stars around it. The ship lurched and jarred as space and gravity were forced around the hull of the massive hulk of metal. As the shuttering came to a halt, the massive gas giant Marmaglas filled the viewport. Just down to the lower right of their view, was a large tan and orange dot. The 13th moon of Marmaglas was a very volcanic moon at some point in it's history, but was now terraformed into a relatively fertile world, with large lakes surrounded by habitable zones, divided by large deserts as one neared the equator. If it wasn't already a moon, one could easily have mistaken it for an Earth like planet.

"Helm, full speed, into orbit. Take one-half roll, set orbit path at course 215.75 and wait for further orders." Itō projected orders with the skill of a Naval veteran of her caliber. Six years in The Chair had made her a stellar performing officer. "AC, dispatch all Hornet-IIs, defensive formations. GC, get Bravo Company in the hangar and be prepped for a hot extraction."

After barking out a few more commands to get everything in motion, she turned to face the Colonel. "Viridis, who's ready for Titanfall?"

His expression had long since turned serious and was now in a stance of 'almost attention'. IMC habits die hard, she assumed. "Mick, Tash, and myself can be good to go in three. And we still have Brown's in the drop bay."

"Greene and Grígora still out?"

"LN-3945 and RT-7013 are both still in need reactor replacements."

"Tell those two to get prepped, and you get geared up. You're on standby."

The Colonel gave a quick salute, and walked away. After a few minutes more of watching a dozen craft swarm around, the crew got the command from 1LT Brown that the charges had been set, and they were ETA fifteen minutes. A lone Goblin dropship was being chased by a large squadron of Phantom attack aircraft. A classic Brown scene, the man had a shtick for stealing IMC equipment. Last week, he managed to lift a mostly completed Reaper with a full payload of Ticks.

"Tell Bravo to stand down, and alert the hangar for a... Brown entrance."

A voice came over the INCOM, laced with a recognizable drawl. "You friggin' Jap broad! Don't nev'r bring my Ma inta 'is!"

"And if I do, you inbred hick?"

What a coincidence that she said that, not a second later a large white and orange puff came from the station. The communications were then filled with laughter. "'At'll happen to ya! Ha!"

No sooner had the hillbilly responded, had the Colonel gave his own addition to the exchange, merely letting out a perfect rendition of a Grito Mexicano. "Es muy bonito, amigo."

"Alright everybody," came the Captain regaining control of the conversation, "let's get out-"

"Contact! Contact! _Hastings_ is Oscar Mike!"

The entire bridge crew snapped to the TAO, who was looking at the Captain. As one by one, the crew looked out the viewport, the saw the large, sleek grey mass of ship move out from around the debris field. Like a wolf creeping out of the woods, the Destroyer approached with a silent yet daunting presence. "Forget her. Primary objective is complete, we're out of here."

Once the fighters were finished docking and the ambitious pyromaniac was secure, the Captain gave the order to pull out of the system, and the ship turned around and proceeded ahead full speed. The navigation team had almost just started inputting return trip Jump route, when a radar technician spoke up. "Radar lock alert! She's targeting us!"

"What!" Itō panicked. "They're more than six thousand klicks out. We're out of range of anything that would do damage."

"They must have something ma'am."

At that moment, three miniscule blue dots blinked into existence, and began streaking towards the _Winter._ All of the fighters were in the hangar, which left the point defense system to pick up the slack. The problem, they had a limited field of fire to the direct rear of the ship. Two of the missiles were intercepted in a hail of plasma fire. The third was determined to persevere though, and collided in a flowery blossom of horror to the engines. Damage Control went into overdrive.

"Fucking Mother of Crist!" came the DC officer. "Decompression in all engine compartments, Engineering Quarters F-12, and Cargo Bays F-3,4,6, and 7. Minimal compromising in the hull. Compartment system is in effect."

The engineers soon came up with an unsettling report of their own. "Engines are at 40 percent operation."

Over half of their propulsion gone, in competition with a ship that was already faster than them. Hopefully, their firepower could make up their slack. Point for point, the _Virgil_ -Class Light Freighter was outfitted to out gun ships comparable to the _Vienna_ -Class Destroyer. It had a more advanced missile targeting system, more effective railguns, and a better countermeasure system. However, the most important keystone of it's defense, was it's maneuverability. In a straight out slugging match, there was no telling what would happen.

"How soon can we make a Jump?" The Captain was, doing as she did best, breaking down the situation. They need out as soon as possible. One major aspect of Pioneer doctrine was don't pick a fight you don't think you can win.

"We'll have an assessment in few minutes, ma'am."

"Contact closing. She'll be in firing range in T minus 3."

Her options were clear. They were going to be duking it out.

* * *

 **A/N**

 **Alright guys, sorry for the delay. Had some writing to do for classes and got caught up in some college drama. How do normal people deal with this crap?**

 **I'd also like to take this moment to say no offense for the terms used by my characters. But hey, this is rated T, so yeah.**

 **Also, as I asked a while ago, if anyone** **well established head cannon about Menagerie and Blake and her family, I could really use some input.**

 **Finally, comments and criticism is welcome. A thank you shout out to nopeite nopeite nope, the fan of this story.**

 **END TRANSMITTION**


	8. Chapter 8

The shootout was not particularly majestic. It was the primal base of a slugging match between two brute ships. An a matter of moments, the outcome of the battle was rather easy to anticipate.

"Come on boys!" Captain Itō was starting to panic. In the seventeen years of Pioneer units operating with the Frontier Militia, a Pioneer ship had never been captured. It was quickly looking like she was going to set the precedent. "If we aren't out of here in the next minute, we are going to be in a world of trouble."

"Ma'am," came a voice from behind. The Colonel was back.

"Yes, Colonel?"

"I think we need to start preparing for Protocol 49." That got everyone's attention.

Protocol 49 was the failsafe procedure that preceded the scuttling of a Militia ship. Step one was to wipe the entire data server of the ships computer. This eliminated the entire navigation memory of the ship, wiped personnel files, deactivated security systems including all Spectre infantry onboard, and manifest inventory. This data purge was to be initiated by a senior crew member, or delegated person, from the main onboard mainframe computer. The problem with this was that Titans operated on an independent IOS, and needed to be purged individually.

That being said, the Captain was very hesitant to respond. A premature initiation could leave them stranded with no communications or navigation information. A delayed initiation could end up with the IMC discovering the Via Nebula, and the Militia fueling stations hidden there.

"Goblins inbound! Goblins inbound!"

The question was answered for her. "Gus," Itō said, looking at the man with an inkling of worry in her voice, "get a team together, and be ready for my command."

A curt nod and affirmative, and the man was on his way. There were six Goblin dropships inbound, which equated to about thirty-six IMC Marines. If the inbound boarding part had Pilots on board, the situation would be even more undesirable.

* * *

 **Hangar Bay 3**

RC2 Johnathan White was sitting behind a stack of crates in with the rest of his squad, when the door behind their impromptu bulwark hissed open. In walked a five foot, plus change, tall woman with brown eyes, and short blonde hair pulled into a lose tail behind her head. She was wearing dark red/grey/black striped ARES infantryman's armor over a standard issue Militia Pilot jumpsuit, but solid black. In one hand, she held a M2AC helmet, with its iconic blue 'X' visor, and in the other was her current weapon of choice, the M1901 Mastiff. Pilot Master Sergeant Natasha Silverman.

"Alright you lot," he voice was much softer than her reputation. She was the Pilot for a Legion-Class Ogre Titan, and currently held the second highest Titan kill count in the 726th, and she had an affinity for Firestars. "Let's give these IMC wankers a good going over, ah?"

"DAMN STRAIT!" and "Hell yeah!" filled the room. White pulled his V-47 to his shoulder, and focus on the hangar doors. It wouldn't be long until things got very exiting.

The wait wasn't long, for only a few minutes later, the speakers came on with a, presumably last, word from the Captain. "All crew, prepare to repel intruders."

The ship continued to shudder under the repeating salvos sent from the _Hastings_ as the two behemoths slugged away at each other. Yet, somehow, three Goblin dropships slowly cruised into the hanger, and were promptly meet with a hail of bullets. Notably lacking from the onslaught was rockets or missiles of any kind. Avoiding explosive decompression took priority. In return, the Goblins spooled up their rotary cannons, and responded to the Militia in kind.

Sergeant Silverman called for a retreat. "Pull back! We'll hold 'em off in the hallways!"

Just as he was filing through the doorway, White saw four figures jump right out of the Goblins without even waiting for it to land. "WE'VE GOT PILOTS IN THE AREA!"

MSG Silverman was now using her energy shotgun to saturate the hallway in suppressing fire, much like the rest of the forces present. That is, until, the glowing trail of jump pack thrusters came bounding into the corridor. "Pull back to the Armory! Cut them off from the OSR!"

* * *

In another part of the ship, a very enraged 1LT Leroy Brown was currently storming down the hallway, his Sidewinder SMR hung at one side, with his B3 Wingman clutched tightly in his right hand. While Pilot Tash had the responsibility of the Hangar Bay 3 sector, him and his personal squad of hell raisers were responsible for Hanger Bay 1, which was in very close proximity to the engine room.

"Sir, the Captain said we can't use-"

"I know what the lady said, son." Brown was a man who had a lacking of both subtlety and tact. The man had been demoted for misconduct as many times as he had been promoted for his astounding resourcefulness on the battlefield. There had even been talks of him replacing the LT Colonel. Brown would always say that the Colonel wasn't fit to lead as he was too accustomed to fighting with the IMC supply capacity behind him. The Colonel would then reminded the crew that he was the only one on the ship with extensive experience in commanding a unit of the size like the 726th. Nevertheless, the Lieutenant was very good at his job, and as a Scorch-Class Titan Pilot, his job was to, well...

"Alright boys, let's fuck some shit up! Yeah?!" The hallway filled with agreement. "Sir?" It was the same RC1. "Can't you cause hall breaches with that sir?"

"Boy, we're here to kill some IMC grunts that 're pickin' a fight with us." Brown pulled down his looted IMC Infantry helmet, and cocked his SMR. "Don't mind the details, son. Just get 'er done."

Despite the bravado his was putting off, Leroy was actually terrified. In all his twelve years in the Frontier Militia, and counter-piracy jobs, he had never been on the receiving end of a boarding. In those one hundred plus boarding parties, he was always the offense. What was more disconcerting, the offense always won. The key was to not let the team know that.

His thoughts were interrupted by the doorways to the hanger flying off. "HOLD!"

Out of the door walked a pair of IMC infantry, they're faces hidden by their bug-eye masked helmets that mirrored his own. The corridor exploded in a fierce exchange of Mk.2 Spitfires and R-101C bullets blazing angry red and yellow lines at one another. The only thing the Lieutenant was focused on was his ammo counter, and his targets. Shot one, hit. Shot two, hit. Three, miss. Four and five follow up. Reload and repeat.

"Deploying smoke!"

Two Militiamen fired off a pair of electro-smoke canisters into the group. The Lieutenant took this moment to pull up his SMR, and set it up on a crate. The grunts were just a first strike. If the IMC used similar patterns as the DSD, then the next forces coming down that hallway would be much more audacious. Stalkers.

"More inbound! We've got-" The Sergeant was silenced by a burst of red trails of light streaking down the hall. Several more troops were torn to pieces by the scolding energy. As if the universe had seen fit to push Brown over his limit, two pairs of blue jump trails bounded over the stalkers, wall running around them. One landed behind the other, while the forward one activated Browns least favorite IMC tactic.

"Fuckin' particle walls! Suck this!"

It was now that a swarm of thin smoke trails cut through the air towards the unfortunate IMC Pilots. He had barely gotten through half his magazine when his eyes just managed to catch a pair of small green orbs landing in front of his unit. "Down!"

BANG! BANG!

The explosions were defining. Brown struggled to his knees, an unrelenting ringing in his ears. The world was rolling around him, a undistinguishable blur of figures and colors. His vision blinked in and out for a few seconds, and he found it becoming harder to breathe. His helmet was stifling. His hands felt heavy, like he was tied down with bungee cords. Once he felt the latch to his helmet touch his fingers, he pulled as hard and as fast as he could, and ripped the infernal contraption off his head. The broken piece of armor rolled away smoking, the Gadsden Flag painted on the back was scorched over.

He had been planning on repainting it sometime today.

"Sir!" It was one of his Specialists addressing him. The young woman taking potshots with her R-97 in one hand, and working on an injured Sergeant with the other. He was bleeding profusely from both his legs, and multiple injuries scattered over his right torso. It was as if this man was standing over a grenade when it went off. Come to think of-

"SIR!"

The Lieutenant was pulled from his thoughts, and diverted his attention to the overworked soldier engaging in an act of futility. "Report, Specialist."

Relief filled her eyes as she put aside her weapon, letting a nearby RC1 take her firing position. "We need to stop them, sir. Hangar 3 was overrun, and we just got the Protocol 49 advisory."

"California?"

"California, sir."

He let out a sigh. "... FUCK!"

He ran a few calculations though his head, playing out several scenarios in a mental trial-and-error game. He had a satchel charge, one and a half magazines for his SMR, five more reloads for his B3, one Arc grenade, and red smoke grenade. Against him was two Pilots, one with a Particle Shield, a dozen plus Stalkers, and a handful of IMC infantry. All in a relatively spacious hallway, but he also had to be mindful of the vacuum of space on the other side of the walls.

"Alright," he finally said. "I got a plan. Get to the bulkhead lock, an' seal it on that side by hand. I'll cover ya', get the other side, an' we lock 'em in here and have the Cap blow 'em out the hangar airlocks."

"Yes sir."

The Specialist lead what remained of his team down to the bulkhead door, while he used a borrowed R-101C to provide cover fire. He then sprinted out from cover towards an off branching hallway, intent on flanking around the IMC forces and bypassing them on his way to the bulkhead. As he went, he snagged a nearby downed Stalker that was missing its legs and an arm. He removed the energy cell from its back, and threw himself into cover by the doorway to the hangar. He then pulled out a small, short range radio.

"Cap, Cap, this Lieutenant Brown, over."

"We hear you Brown, what the situation?"

"Tell my team to head over to Gus."

"What are you doing?"

He opened the door, ran full sprint towards the Pressure Field Projector and turned to face the IMC pursuers that had followed him in. "I'm savin' yer ass again, sweetheart."

* * *

The entire ship felt the shudder of a new a massive breach in the hull.

"What the hell!" The Captain had been in the process of recalibrating the Jump system when a series of breach alarms filled the Bridge. "Brown, what was that?"

All she got in reply was static. "Brown, did you just _intentionally_ breach the hull of my ship!"

More static. "Ma'am, we have venting in sections Alpha six through nine, and Bravo five through nine. Bulkheads have sealed in appropriate areas, but we just lost a good part of our crew."

She was starting to panic. "Gus? You still there?"

 _"Yes, ma'am. OSR is locked down."_ His voice distorted by the radio.

"I have a plan, but you're not going to like it."

 _"Today's already been pretty bad, so I'll hear it."_

* * *

 **Beacon Academy, Kingdom of Vale**

"What was the plan?" Qrow had been relatively quite during most of the exchange. What the Colonel couldn't tell was if it was from the copious amounts of alcohol that was in his system, or was simply the man's nature.

"We made a blind Jump, and came down a few thousand kilometers behind your moon. We still had a few intruders who were not to fond of us. In reparation for stranding them with us, they used a few bombs and blew open the hull. I was stuck in the OSR until we entered orbit."

"So, your entire crew was..." Glynda asked reprehensively.

"Sucked into the oblivion of darkness of space, yes."

The group sat in silence for a moment. No one had any idea what to say. To think that such violence could happen in such a far away place, and on such a scale was unimaginable. A war of billions over hundreds of planets, one side fighting for sovereignty, the other for it's own property that was stolen.

"Well if neither of you two are going to ask it," Qrow spoke up, "I guess I will." The entire room turned to face him. "What do we do now?"


	9. Chapter 9

"So, he's an officer in a terrorist organization?" Ironwood had just ben filled in on the details of Remnant's newest visitor.

"He's also still in the room." The man in question was mildly irked that his presence had been overlooked by the good General. "And, honestly, I'm surprised that's the point of _all that..._ that whole story... that's what you decided to focus on."

"Oh, belive me, I'm equally concerned about the industrious, invasive megacorporation."

The Colonel rolled his eyes. "Yo Estoy _aquí_ , cabrón."

A quartet of eyebrows raised towards the Colonel.

"What. I worked for them too, remember?"

"Regardless," Ironwood continued, "I still don't see how we can trust him."

The Colonel shrugged his shoulders, and looked down at the floor in frustration. "You're just pissed 'cause I kicked your ass..."

It was now that madam authority asserted her control over the two squabbling soldiers. "Gentlemen, that is enough! You are both grown adults, and I expect you to act accordingly."

"He shot at my soldiers."

"You came on to _my_ ship!"

"You unlawfully entered Mistral territory-"

"I FUCKING CRASHED YOU JACKASS!"

SLAP! A ridding crop made contact with a table.

"ENOUGH!" Glynda had had enough. "The next one of you to speak gets a reprimand!"

The Colonel responded with one hand giving a mock salute, the other being raised in a surrender position. The General simply grumbled.

It had been a few hours since the Colonel had told his story to the scholastic trio of Ozpin, Goodwhich, and Qrow. A recording of the conversation had been sent to Ironwood a few moments ago, after some selective editing by the Colonel. The gist of the summary of events that transpired preceding the Colonel's arrival was still apparent. Which, was why Ironwood decided to provide his own lie of questioning.

"Alright," Qrow spoke up, "now that we're all civil again" the Colonel huffed in indignation, "I think we can get back to my question of what we should do about this guy."

Ozpin nodded. "Yes, I've been thinking about that. I think it would be best if you remained hidden for now."

"Yeah," Qrow replied, "I kinda figured that. But what about all those gadgets of his-"

The Colonel took his turn and jumped into the conversation. "Mine. All mine. No one gets to do anything with them."

"A bit selfish, aren't we?" Qrow fired back.

"Hey, no hard feelings, but there is some high level weaponry in that stash that I don't trust any of you with." He gave the assembly a hard look to drive his point home. "Plus, last thing I need's for the public to find out the Militia's been pulling underdeveloped worlds into it's service."

"Excuse me?" Ironwood was mildly offended. "How are we underdeveloped?"

The Colonel gave a look of both surprise and annoyance. "You really want to have this discussion?"

The collective gave varying degrees of agreement. "Alright. Top down, you don't have any FTL systems, no space Navy, no orbital defenses. As near as I can tell, you haven't even made it into space. Your airships are impressive in size and admittedly more maneuverable than they look, but lack appropriate armor for an extended engagement. You have an over reliance on mechanical soldiers that are extremely ineffective in combat. If I had to guess, they're probably designed for heavy police duty.

"On top of all that, your planet is severely underpopulated. Relatedly, you have failed to make significant headway in defeating this 'Grimm' threat of yours, which has lead to much of your miniscule population to be focused in a collection of cities. On top of all that, a sizeable chunk of your tiny population is been shewed away by the rest."

Ironwood glared at the man while Ozpin spoke up. "So if the IMC came to Remnant, with the intent of invasion-"

"They would annihilate you in maybe a few weeks. Easy."

The group was silent after that. "So," the Colonel spoke up, "I think the best thing to do now would be for me to hold up here, work on my LOCNET, and figure out what to do I that plan falls apart."

"And what am I to do with your ship?" Ironwood sounded more professional than he had a few moments ago. "And are we going to inform Lionheart? Or Skiáchtro?"

Goodwhich answered. " Ms. Arancione has informed Lionheart, and we-" Ozpin coughed "... _I_... was hoping you would inform Skiáchtro."

The room was silent again. Those in the room that were not new to the planet were all exchanging knowing glances, while the Militia man simply waited for some one to let some information slip. Qrow came through for him. "You're _still_ mad-"

"Of course I am!" Glynda rarely displayed that much emotion. "That bi-"

"Language Glynda."

"Well she is!" She focused her ire toward the cane wielding Headmaster. "She new perfectly well what she was doing when she... did that to him." She glanced around the room, noticing two pairs of inquisitive eyes, one alien, the other avian, and decided to cut her rant short.

"Well," the Colonel seem to continue unfazed by the professor's outburst, "I think the wreck is in a remote enough place where we don't have to worry about it. If you could ask the..." He looked around for someone to give him an answer to the Kingdom he had forgotten. "...Kingdom government of where I crashed?"

"Mistral."

"Mistral! Yeah, them. Ask them if I can just keep the wreckage there, and just let my security handle the rest." He crocked his head to the side. "Better yet, just keep the situation to that local town or whatever it was that saw me crash. The less government, the better."

"That doesn't sound like a bad idea, actually." Ironwood said in rather positive tone. "I would prefer to not have more people in the loop than there already is."

Augustus stretched his neck out casually toward Qrow. "Ay diablo, he's agreeing with me." He mumbled under his breath, only audible between the two. Qrow let out a barely suppressed laugh. He regained his composure before eyeing the man.

"What's 'diablo' mean?"

A look of recollection came over Augustus. "Oh yeah, that was one thing I wanted to ask you all." He gave the group an inquisitive look as they all turned to face him. "What other languages do you guys have on this planet?"

"Excuse me." The General reclaimed the attention of the room, while give a good look towards the Colonel. "If we could get back to the matter at hand, please." He moved his gaze away from the Colonel. "Now that we have something of a plan, I suggest we get back to our original duties."

Ozpin sighed. "Yes, I agree. Colonel Viridis, I believe Qrow can show you the way back to your quarters."

The dusty bird growned. "Ugh, fine. Come on grey man. I get the feeling they don't want you in on this conversation."

"Hehehe. I'm a Grey." Augustus snickered with a gin. Qrow look at him quizzically. "What?"

"A Grey?"

"...Forget it. Long story."

As they rode down the elevator, Qrow turned to the Colonel again. "Diablo?"

Augustus threw his head back in a bellowing laugh. It took him a moment to respond. "Es español, mi camarado alado."

* * *

 **later that day...**

In a small storage room on the first floor of Beacon Academy, Ozpin found the man he was looking for. The first thing he noticed was actually the last thing he was expecting; music. Not only was there music, but as he got closer, he noticed that the music was playing quite loud. A fast, strumming tone of a guitar taking primacy of the acoustic entourage added a well paced rhythm to the noise echoing off the walls. The pleasant sounding melody was off put by the story in the lyrics. Something about killing a woman and running to Juarez Mexico.

"...-her down 'cause she made me slow, 'ought I was her daddy but she had five more!"

"Quite a bizarre song." Ozpin spoke just as he entered the room. He found a rather organized mess of tools, equipment pieces, weapons, and random bits of technology scattered around on the floor and a few tables. The storage room was rather large, with a cargo door in the back, which was useful in providing access for the Colonel's large robot. The machine in question was currently sitting off in a corner, it's lights on, but it did not appear to be active in any other sense. a few of the smaller robots were milling about, set on some type of patrol pattern. Odd, considering the Colonel should have a very good view of the room from his position, sitting at a desk with a lamp and a hunk of wires and components.

The music suddenly cut out. "If by bizarre you mean incredible, than I am inclined to agree with you."

"A song from you're home?"

The Colonel looked up from the desk, wearing a pair of heavily tinted goggles and a faded rep cap with the bill turned backwards. "Sort of. Earth is kind of the home for all humans, I guess."

"Speaking of your home, I don't believe you answered my question regarding the population."

He pulled the goggles form his face, letting the protective gear hang around his neck. "Senolca, last I checked was maxed at about four-hundred and fifty million. All of the settled galaxy is about four or five trillion."

"Interesting." He replied in an inquisitive tone. He began to gaze around the room, while under the defensive watch of the Colonel.

"You lose something, here?"

"Well I happen to be having a conversation with a man from another world," His eyes came back to the man in question. "So if anything, I may have lost my sanity."

An amused smirk crossed Augustus' face, if only for a brief moment. "I admire the humor, headmaster, but is there anything I can help you with?"

"As a matter of fact, there is."

* * *

 **Well, everyone that's it. I apologize for taking forever to get this out, and for the fact that it really isn't very long. What's even worse is the fact that I probably won't be updating again for the rest of the year. I've been rather tied up in problems (of the academic variety) and a few other situations (those of the feminine variety).**

 **In other news, depending on how you look at it, I might be creating two other stories; one RWBY, the other Titanfall. The Titanfall one would be based around my Nomad Corps head-cannon.**

 **Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go clean my windows (code for 'watch new Star Wars'). As always, please give feed back, and thank you for reading.**

 **END TRANSMITTION**


	10. Chapter 10

Qrow needed a drink, and his flask was empty. Why would Ozpin do this to him? That is, aside from the reasons he explained to him before tasking him to this manhunt. But why now, and why like this? Why the new guy?

"Is there a specific booze we're looking for, or do you just need a buzz?" Asked the Augustus from behind the -possible- alcoholic.

"What _I'm_ looking for is a place to get a refill." He shook his flask, but negated to break from his scan of the street they were walking down. "What _we're_ looking for, is a girl."

The Militiaman simply raised a brow, but otherwise remained neutral. "Yeah, that's what your boss said." The Huntsman gave the Colonel a sideways glance, before shooting him an amused smirk. "You mean _our_ boss."

"No..." The Colonel gave the tone of scolding teacher. "Ozpin is your boss. I am doing him a favor by helping you look for a... girl."

Qrow, now invested in the dispute, turned to face his verbal opponent. "Yeah, which makes him your _temporary boss_."

"Nah ah, ah. No, no, it makes him my _contractor_."

Qrow narrowed his eyes at the man. He huffed, and smirked. "Hehe. You're alright for a military guy."

Augustus merely smiled and shrugged. "Well, unlike Tin-Man Jimbo, I'm a human being before I'm a soldier, so I have a sense of humor. And social skills. And a soul." As Qrow broke out into a short burst of laughter, Augustus pulled off his rucksack. "Speaking of souls," he said as he pulled out a canteen marked with a blue ribbon, "I got some spirit for you if you want a shot."

Qrow took the offered container and sniffed the contents with abundant curiosity. "What is this?"

"Basic black rum with a little something extra thrown in." The Huntsman gave a grunt of acknowledgment. "What do you usually drink?"

"Whisky." He took a small sip, and gave a grunt in satisfaction, and handed the canteen back. "Not to bad."

"Thanks." He screwed the cap back on and put it back in his rucksack. "Old family recipe."

The pair continued to walk down the bustling sidewalk. While Qrow strolled along in his hunched over lazy gait, Augustus was marched along with a controlled foot patrol place. Despite the casual conversing, the Militiaman was unable to stop his instincts from telling to be on alert. The last time he had been in a city this size was quite some time ago, and the local population had been not particularly hospitable. Speaking of local populations, the inhabitants of Vale seemed to be somewhat suspicious. Maybe he was just being paranoid, but he swore that a fair number of the people he had passed had given odd sideways glances.

In all fairness to the people of Vale, he must have been an abnormal sight. IMC cargo pants, OD green jacket, and his gray and orange cap. Slung across his back and chest was probably what was drawing most of the attention. Pultruding from his kaki rucksack, which contained an MRE and a half dozen magazines, was his CAR, it's barrel poking out just past the forward sight. Strapped to the side of the pack, was an L-STAR. A weapon he loved and a weapon he feared, respectively. Hooked on securely to his chest was his Mk.6 Smart Pistol. This was the one weapon he had seriously considered not bringing. While it had saved his life on more than a few occasions, it was incredibly arduous to repair, and it was significantly less reliable than everything else in his arsenal. On top of that, the ammunition was going to be a total pain to make, if he could remake it at all. His Hammond hadn't needed to be mended in months, were as his Mk.6 had been to the shop twice in as many weeks.

Qrow, on the other hand, seemed to be a completely unassuming stranger to the crowd. No one spared the caped swordsman a second glance.

When he voiced these thoughts to Qrow, he responded simply with "It's the camouflage."

A pause filled the conversation. "...Really?"

"And the guns." Qrow added. "You're dressed like some kind of unholy hybrid of Listís Raider and Atlas Infantryman, neither of which is entirely welcome here."

"And they see me with you and they get thrown for a loop."

Qrow nodded. "Exactly."

"So," the Colonel said after a moment, "where exactly are we going? And why did I have to bring this much fire power?"

"We're going to a motel near the Monorail Maintenance terminal to meet with an informant of mine, guy by the name of Raymond, or something. Supposedly he's got information on the girl."

Augustus gave the huntsman a sideways brow-raised look. " _Or something_? How reliable of an informant is he if you don't even know his name?"

"He's an up and coming scene in the underworld community. Hasn't made a name for himself yet."

Augustus simply hummed in response. As the two men continued towards their destination, the sun's crawl across the sky approached it's end. With the blazing orange sky above them, the terminal came into view as it's iconic zig-zagging roof invaded the horizon and loomed over the other buildings on the block. Further down the block to the south, _'Blue Chair Inn'_ was plastered in neon lights on the front of the six story building.

Qrow smiled and nudged his companion's arm. "Classy place wouldn't you say?"

The multiple broken windows, graffiti, and burned car in side ally suggested that the Huntsman was, in fact, being sarcastic. "I know." The militiaman was motivated to do the same. "The graffiti brings out that Art Deco vibe, while the scorch marks on the side walls gives it a nice homey feel."

Qrow's smile morphed into a contorted face of confusion. "Huh?"

"What? I'm a dieselpunk kind of guy, but without all that postmodern gunk."

Qrow simply shook his head and walked on. "I'm not even going to ask."

The militiaman gave the street a glance in both directions, checked his six o' clock for potential tails, and followed his compatriot to the seedy inn. Aside from the pale blue light of the sign, a number of the windows on the front of the building were bleeding dirty yellow through the opaque glass. At this hour, that suggested that this establishment was currently hosting several late night rendezvous, and was about to start one more.

As the two men walked through the front door, a motion sensitive light came on in the small lobby. A hazy yellow, almost orange, glow illuminated the bare room with it's two small grey painted wood benches, a concrete front desk, and a single wall covered in cork board with numerus notices, adds, and flyers covering it. The rest of the room was painted in a splotchy brown-yellow pattern, as if someone had just thrown muddy sponges at the wall. The floor was a greenish-grey tile for the most part, with a few red faded purple tiles randomly scattered around. _Probably replacements._

The one important thing the room was missing was a person at the front desk. The lobby formed the bottom of a 'T' intersection with the hallway, and dead ahead was the front desk, with an empty chair, and a locked steel door behind the cement slab.

"Assume you know were Mr. Raymond-or-something is?"

"Fifth floor, room 22B."

When the pair reached the fifth floor, a small problem occurred. "What _pendejo_ designed this hallway set up?"

The rooms were arranged and numbered in a double 'H' loop back with an 'L' in between for a small commissary lounge. The numbering only seemed to follow as far as one wall before changing at the beginning of another hallway. Complicating matters even further was the stairs came up in a far corner, so the two ended up wandering down a few corridors before they noticed what was most likely their destination.

A man of rather intimidating posture was leaning against a door with a rather dull expression on his face. He donned a pair of black cargo pants and a brown leather jacket over a red shirt. Between the jacket and shirt was a formfitting metal breastplate, well concealed in the ensemble like the pistol and two knives on his belt. Siting atop his head of silver hair, with streaks of white, reveling the slight age the man had acquired.

"You Bowman?" His voice was gruff and scratchy, possibly do to years of smoking cigarettes similar to the one currently between his lips.

A huff was the only indication that a mispronunciation of his name bothered him, before addressing the pique. "It's Branwen. Who the hell are you?"

The shift in the man's arms did not go unnoticed by either of the two envoys from the Professor, and they unknowingly shared a thought. _He just put his right hand closer to his sidearm._ This motivated the Colonel to lazily grip the top of his vest with both hands, putting his own pistol within quick draw distance. It was also a deliberately obvious action, and the way the man cocked his head back seemed to indicate he got the message.

"I thought you were supposed to come alone." It was more a statement than a question. "Who's the spook?"

Qrow wanted to consider the man's words while also concocting a response, but was cut off by a response from his cohort. "That's _sicario_ to you _cabrón_."

Before the verbal spar could continue, Qrow held up a hand to bring silence to the feuding gunmen. "Alright, hold on. The last thing anyone needs is you two trigger happy psychos having a shoot out, right?"

A shared silence between the soldier-assassin pair. A second passed before Qrow took the quiet as a response. "Okay." He turned to the man. "Now, I'm here to talk to the guy who, I assume, hired you. So are we good or not?"

The man, still holding true to the strong silent type, simply cocked his head towards the door and took a step back. "Nice."

Qrow stepped past the guard and opened the door, with Augustus following behind him. Just as the militiaman passed his rival, he shared a mutual glare before entering the threshold of the room. Before he could enter past the small mudroom of the hotel room, his companion turned around and grabbed the holstered pistol strapped to the Colonel's chest. Reacting instinctually, the Colonel grabbed the Huntsman's offending wrist and cocked his own arm back in preparation for a quick right jab at the man's face. He was stopped when the sword wielders other hand held up in a pacifying gesture.

"Hold up," he said, taking his other hand slowly off the pistol holster.

" _Pinche madre!"_ Augustus ran a hand across his hair. " _Qué mierda, pendejo?_ "

Although not aware of the exact translation, Qrow had a good guess as to what he meant. "You're not gonna shot anybody, are you?"

Augustus gave a sigh and rolled his eyes. "Seriously, man?" Qrow gave him an exasperated look. " _Pinche…_ only if I have to."

"And what do you mean-"

"When someone shoots at me, I'll shoot back, okay?"

"Good."

The two made their way into the rest of the main area of the room. A small one bed room, a window with access to the exterior fire escape, and a bathroom. A small holoprojector stand, with accompanying holoprojector, sat opposite the bed. Finally, in the far corner, hidden from the window and sitting behind a desk, sat a man in the shadows.

A pair of rather unassuming shoes on his feet, dark in color. The black button down shirt and unbuttoned gray vest was a odd formal contrast to the black cargo pants, and black leather gloves. leaning forward, both hands rested on a rather suspicious cane, given the youthful age of the man. Topping off the man's appearance was a bowler hat, with a dark red band around it. Peaking out beneath said hat, was a mop of ginger hair, sprawled out over his forehead, neck, and ears.

"Qrow Branwen, as I live and breath," the informant said as he stood up. He spoke with the town of a man that had all the confidence in the world, and a fair bit of charisma to put it to use. "And you brought a guest."

* * *

 **A/N**

 **Has it been a while since I updated? Yes. Do I wish y'all a Happy Halloween? Also yes.**

 **Sorry for the long pause, but I had some shit go down, and I've put up two other stories. Any of you Titanfall fans out there are welcome to go shoot out over there.**

 **I'm pretty sure most of you can figure out who the mystery informant is. Bonus points if you know who the hired gun was.** **Anyone got guesses on the lady to be found?**

 **END TRANSMITION**


	11. Chapter 11

"So how are things, Branwen?"

"Could be better," he replied as he sank into the chair across from the mobster. "On a job again. How's the leg?"

The mobster shrugged. "Not as bad as it was when I got out of Atlas."

Qrow shrugged. "Been four years."

The two aquatics sat across from one another in brooding silence. A tension could be observed between the two, as they seemed to be familiar with each other, but not by friendly means, but Augustus had no clue as to why. Meanwhile, the Colonel stood to the side, hat in his hands. He was inspecting the room with a casual eye, trying to be as inconspicuous as an armed mercenary could be.

 _Is that what I am now? Some two bit hired gun?_ He thought.

Despite his best efforts to the contrary, The Colonel had not remained inconspicuous enough. "So what's your story, big guy?"

Augustus mulled it over in his head for a second. He had put some thought into how he would respond to this question when it inevitable came. Although, since he had only been here for two days, and had been fairly preoccupied taking stock of his situation, he hadn't come up with a lot of good options.

"I'm a recently unemployed soldier."

Torchwick seemed to be expecting this answer, and responded with as much. "Well, I was expecting that or a raider."

Augustus crossed his arms, and gestured to his Huntsman companion. "Yep. It's what he said, too."

"The camo, right?" Qrow chimed in.

"Mmhm," Roman hummed an affirmative. "Like some of those unsavory fiends in the Mistral wilderness."

Qrow huffed. "Little backwards for you to call someone fiendish don't you think?"

Roman gave a cocky smirk as he leaned back in his chair. "Oh come now, Qrow. Must we be hostile to each other?"

The Huntsmen gave a long sigh of frustration before changing to the subject. "You got the location of the girl or not?"

The desire to leave was beginning to show on his face. Augustus just barely held back an amused grin. The passive-aggressive tone between these two was very well hidden. _Really can't help but wonder what happened between these two._

Roman silently sat for a moment, an amused smirk on full display to show how pleased he was with getting under the Huntsman's skin. "As a matter of fact, I do. But I have to tell you, she seems to have a few friends of a rather... unpleasant disposition."

"That's why he's here," Qrow said with a jerk of his head towards the militiaman in the corner. "So I'll ask again, where is she?"

Roman held up his hands, the grin still on his face. "Alright, if you insist, I know you can handle yourself. Just east of Rail Station 9, Graycast Industrial Plant. Wearhouse 2. Last I was told, she was waiting in the foreman's office on the third floor. But there is one thing..."

"Yeah?"

"I heard she was a Huntress. Is that true?"

Qrow sat up a little more in his chair. "What's that got to do with anything?"

Roman's smirk grew into a toothy, ear-to-ear grin. "That wasn't a denial."

The two men's attention was pulled from one another when the third man in the room cleared his throat. Roman's face went blank when he looked to the militiaman, while Qrow was clearly unamused. The Colonel decided to chime in with, "well, it wasn't a confirmation either." A solid, soundless beat followed for a bout five seconds before, "to be fair."

Roman's face was now less pleased. "If she's a Huntress, I guess she wouldn't need another Huntsman and a mercenary to... retrieve her."

Qrow sighed and stood up. "Alright Cap, lets get out of here. We got a jo to finish."

"Sounds good."

Qrow and Augustus began making their way out of the room. Roman stood to show the two guests out, following the two to the door. Once the trio had made it to the door, he stuck his hand out to the Colonel. "Pleasure to have made your acquaintance, sir. However, I don't believe I got your name."

The militiaman looked at the hand for a second before looking the shewed businessman in the eye with a mirrored smirk of his own. " _Igualmente, señor._ Hope we meet again under more friendly conditions." Before Roman could respond, the Colonel put a hand on his shoulder and pointed at the mobster, his face lighting up with a sudden thought. " _Deberíamos ir a beber alguna vez, ese._ " He then proceeded into the hallway.

Roman gaped at the vacant space left by the man, before shrugging off his confusion and turning to Qrow. "Well, Qrow, I guess this is where we part ways again."

"Hope we never meet again, Torch."

Roman offered his had, with all the charm of crocodile. "Come on now, we had some good times, right? No need for these hostilities."

Qrow sighed, shook the mans hand, and walked out with a simple "goodbye, Roman."

Qrow and Augustus walked into the hallway, and made their way out of the building. Once outside, the pair both took a moment to have drink. As Qrow capped his flask, he pulled out his Scroll. "Alright," he said as he walked into the alleyway next to the motel. "I need to make a call for a sec. Don't get into any fights."

"Copy."

Augustus pulled out a pair of what looed like safety glasses. A holdover from his IMC days, the glasses were part of an IMC grunt's combat kit. Part of the Strategic and Tactical Awareness Kit, the glasses provided minor shrapnel protection, but their primary function was to provide a basic HUD, and could be modified to uplink with a Smart Pistol.

"Alright, lets go." Qrow walked out, putting his Scroll away. He seemed a little flustered, but it was hard to tell for sure, considering his usual expression. Nevertheless, the Colonel put his glasses away and shrugged.

"Lead the way."

* * *

 **Graycast Industrial Plant**

The two men were sitting on the ledge of a small two story building just outside the gate of the Plant. Qrow was looking through a pair of binoculars, counting the guards on patrol, while the Colonel was finally inquiring about the situation he had volunteered to put himself in.

"So I gather we're not here to capture the girl."

"Yep."

"Not here to kill her, yes?"

"Nope."

"She a friend of yours?"

Qrow put the binoculars down and glanced to the man. "Why are you just now asking about this."

Augustus shifted back a little, and looked away from the Huntsman. "Well, I've been trying to figure it out for myself. To be fair, I think I've got an idea." A shrug he took as his que to elaborate. "Well, she's someone in a dangerous position, considering I'm here. I'm assuming she's of some importance given all this-" he gestured around him "-but she's also doing something she shouldn't be. That's why you had to communicate via back channels, like Torchwick and his friends on the... dark side.

"She also took the initiative to communicate with you, not the other way around. That means either she has information that she can't get out by regular means, or she thinks she might be compromised and is looking for a way out without blowing the rest of her cover. Which would also make sense for a basic Merc to tag along. Make this look like some hit job or something."

The Colonel paused for a second as another thought came to mind. "That's why you made the phone call. Telling Ozpin where to send the body bags, right? This is an undercover extraction, isn't it? Not just a pick up."

The Huntsman looked at the Militiaman for a second. "This going to be a problem?"

Augustus just shrugged and waved off the comment. "Bah, _me importa un carajo_."

"You ever done anything like this before?"

The Colonel took pause with that. The IMC didn't have the authority to engage in snatch-and-grab operations, and the Militia's SRS usually handled the more precision jobs. "Well, most of my career has been either a grunt, or a Pilot. Neither of which I'd consider 'covert' fields." Augustus had a thought, and shrugged. "Unless you consider S and D as covert."

"Well, I guess I should've expected as much." Qrow adjusted his position. "Alright, here's what we're gonna do." He gestured out towards the industrial plant.

The plant was crawling with at least a dozen armed guards, if not more. All were wearing gray suits of a grey to grey-blue variety, sunglasses, and black hats. It appeared that they were attempting to achieve some type of uniformity, but not making the cut. While some were pacing around on a few roof tops and gangways, most sitting around in small clusters near blacked out vehicles. All of them seemed to be equipped guns about the size of a pistol or small carbine. There didn't appear to be any long guns among the thugs, including the patrollers in the elevated positions. Directly interring with the duos entrance into the compound was three men in varying degrees of vigilance, idling around a small black sedan type vehicle.

"We can't go through the front gate, so I need you to get on that walkway and cover me down that ally. We both work our way to those coolant tanks by the garage, and we the scaffold on the side of the warehouse. I'll go in threw the window, you take the roof. Sound good?"

"ROEs?"

"Keep it quiet, and don't kill the girl with the red jacket."

The Colonel slipped on his glasses and gave a thumbs up. " _Vámonos, amigo!_ "

Qrow shot a glare at the strange man from another world. "What is that you keep doing? That's another language or something, isn't it?"

"No talk, we're Oscar Mike." And with that, the Militia Pilot vaulted over the ledge. When Qrow went to follow, he saw a man leading, grabbing, and falling with calculated precision down the side of the building. The man was a natural, seeming to reach out and grab a ledge or fissure without even sparring so much as a glance before dropping down to the next grab point. Quite an impressive feat for a seven story building. Qrow had been planning on taking the fire escape they had used to access the roof in the first place, but, not wanting to be outdone, followed suit.

Once the two men were on the ground again, Qrow first took a small hit to his pride in being beaten down by a man at least a decade his senior.

" _Ah ha, pinche…_ ", the Colonel moaned and winced as he rolled his shoulder. "Haven't done that in a while."

And with that Qrow's pride was restored. "Alright old man, get moving. We're Oscar Mike."

"Copy," he said as he pulled out his SMG from his bag and positioned the sling over himself. Qrow could have sworn he muttered something else, but brushed it aside. They had a mission that needed doing, and if he didn't get on with it, there was quite a few folks who would be very upset with him. If what Ozpin had told him was true, then this she definitely needed to be secured, aside from all the normal reasons of securing their targets safety.

* * *

 **A/N**

 **Alright, been a while, I know. I'm doing a lot of stuff, and I got a lot of stuff going on.**

 **One thing is that a reviewer asked me something once, and I'd like to point out that I wasn't lying. Technically. That will make more sense next chapter.**

 **In other news, I'd like to thank all the folks who keep up with this story. Thing I'd like to ask y'all of the Titanfall/RWBY community is, why do you all have an interest in the crossover? There's a lot of stories here, and I'm just curious about the draw between these two fandoms.**

 **Also, don't know if any of you read pure Titanfall stories, but I got one. It's a whole lot better than this story, in my opinion.**

 **END TRANSMITION**


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